


When Money Comes Marching Home

by Yuki1014o



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: M/M, Marriage, Money Husbands, general fondness, lots of marriage :), pretty soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28765626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuki1014o/pseuds/Yuki1014o
Summary: In total, Ancap and Libertarian get married three times; first for convenience, second for PR, and third for...well.
Relationships: Anarcho-Capitalist/Libertarian (Centricide)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 60





	When Money Comes Marching Home

**Author's Note:**

> named after [When Money Comes Marching Home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YxTpevct8Ys) by Bart Zeal.  
> Fuck'in hilarious parody and unironically a bop.
> 
> I haven't edited, or even proofread. apologies.

**I.**

Libertarian’s doorbell gleams a sharp kind of bronze beneath the night’s low light. Ancap pauses a moment There’s a kind of—jitteryness, he feels. Or, no, perhaps that’s the wrong label. Giddiness? Much closer! It’s the normal kind of thrill that comes with the start of a new venture. Although, Ancap supposes, this isn’t _exactly_ a business venture.

He presses the doorbell.

No response. Ah, well, it’s to be expected! Quite a late hour, after all. He presses it again, then again, then again, then—

The door-speaker cracks with static. Libertarian’s voice comes thick with sleep. “ _You have no authority to conduct a house search now! I know my rights! Get_ _a fucking warrant_.”

How very _like him_ , Ancap thinks, and snickers. Rings the door again. What could Libertarian have done this time for him to assume a police search? More tax fraud? Technically illegal arms dealing? None of Ancap’s business, really.

There’s lightly thumping footsteps from inside. The door swings open. Libertarian is framed be the indoor light behind him. He looks—tired. Hastily put together. His dress I casual, a winkled white-collar shirt, loose-fitting shorts. Ancap...admittedly does not see Libertarian like this as much as he’d like to. What a treat!

Libertarian blinks at him. “...Ancap?”

Ancap lets a grin crawl wide across his face. “Libertarian, Libertarian! My dear old friend, my most favored business partner! Permission to enter?”

“Oh,” Libertarian says, “er—yeah. You’re always welcome on my property, you know that, right?”

“Wonderful!” Ancap exclaims, and steps past the threshold easily. He grabs onto Libertarian’s shoulder, spins him around, and shuts the door behind them with the back of his shoe. “Always welcome, hm? Can I have your signature on that?”

Libertarian rolls his eyes and scoffs fondly. “As if.”

Ancap draws his free hand to his chest and gasps. “You wound me! Libertarian, you know, since the moment I saw you, you’ve been special to me. Dearest partner! Most valued consumer! I want you to thrive! How could you possibly insinuate I have anything but your best interests in mind?”

He’s joking, of course. Just pulling on a comedic impression of some shoddy salesmen in order to set a light mood, but he kind of—

How strange. He kind of means a tiny bit of whatever nonsense he just spewed. Well, it makes sense. There is a _reason_ Ancap selected Libertarian for this.

Libertarian laughs, eyes crinkling up along the edges. “Come on, enough with that. It’s four in the morning, Ancap. What do you want?”

“Just a business proposal. Lets see, where was the kitchen again...right!” Ancap steers them there, leaves libertarian by the built-in bar, and starts digging through the familiar cabinets for a suitable drink. “Tea, coffee, or alcohol?”

Libertarian sighs in a resigned kind of way. “I’m not sleeping again after this, am I?”

“Who knows!” Really, Ancap would prefer tea. Something soothing and sweetly vanilla. “The proposal this time is very simple, you see. Not very complicated at all, I assure you.”

The other ideology narrows his eyes at him. “Why are you hesitating?”

Ancap freezes. Aaah, this is why he can’t stand Libertarian sometimes; he reads him too easily.

“Good point, my friend.” Why is Ancap hesitating? A combination of two aspects: he does not want the time he devoted to this decision to be wasted, and he does not want Libertarian to make anything more of this than a simple deal. He has also never tried done this with anyone he’s considered even remotely close to equal. “You want it straight?”

Libertarian raises a brow. Point. “Can I trust you to give it straight?”

Hmm. Ancap trusts Libertarian well enough. Let it not be said that Ancap treats his business partners with anything less than perfection. (Well. Not really. It depends—who’s the business partner?)

“Not at all!” Ancap says, with no hesitation, for real this time. He’s never been one for taking half-steps. “Why, it isn’t a straight affair in the first place. Tell me, Libertarian, would you consider marrying me for tax reasons?”

Ancap has been pondering this for the last couple weeks, really. See—his human partners, they have this tedious tendency to _die_. But he’d really prefer not to tie himself to another ideology, because imagine that! Being tied to a _statist_ or an _anti-capitalist_. And within his own quadrant, that he knows well, there’s Hoppean, who’s a definite _no_ and would never agree regardless. There’s Minarchist, but he’s unpredictable on the best of days, so, really—

Well. Honestly, even if there were other similarly suited candidates, it would always be Libertarian. 

“...Oh,” the other ideology says, “that’s all? Sure.” he drums his fingers against the bartop. Hums thoughtfully. “You want to file the papers tomorrow?”

Ancap’s chest releases every bit of tension it held. Why did he expect anything else? His selection is always perfect, after all. He grins wide, and this time it isn’t a calculated gesture.

“We’ll talk it over breakfast. Coffee?”

“Black. There are some packets above the fridge.”

“Eugh,” Ancap can’t stand his with anything less than premium sugar and of course, _not_ out of some c _heap packet_. “I think I stowed a decent blend around here somewhere. Has the pot cabinet been cleared?”

“Of course you did,” Libertarian sighs, fondly. “No, it hasn’t.”

Ancap rummages around. And—yeah! There it is. Wonderful. He puts the coffee on. Leans against the counter. Libertarian is slumping comfortably against the bartop. Ancap studies him.

Loose posture, at ease in Ancap’s presence in a way few really are, brown hair catching the light like caramel. His lips a light shade of rosy pink. The shirt is unbuttoned and dips around the creamy expanse of his neck. Libertarian’s eyes are a gorgeous shade of bronze, the same as freshly minted pennies, and Ancap has the suddenly bizarre thought that he would pay a fair bit more than _pennies_ to own eyes like that.

If Libertarian was anyone else, Ancap thinks, he might just do it. Eyes like that would make a lovely addition to his collection, would make a pretty little decoration on one of his desks. Would fit easily between the bright feathers of exotic taxdermied birds and Faberge eggs that he managed to steal away from the careless fist of Commie’s mad revolution.

But it _is_ Libertarian, and Ancap will always prefer him whole, so he abandons the thought.

(The next day, they file for marriage. There is no ring, no kiss, no ceremony. Ancap watches Libertarian sign his name, and Ancap pens out his signature in crisp black ink, and he can’t help but file this decision as one of his best.)

**II.**

It’s that time of the year again. The one where corporations sputter and spit, and out-of-touch CEOs try and figure out how to best appeal to the LGBT market. It’s a rather precarious month, and a clumsy handling can lead to a social media mob bashing some poor company. Which—granted, doesn’t mean much, but _still!_

Ancap would like this year’s pride month to bring profit. But how to do that…? Queer baiting always works (honestly! If they want companies to _stop_ then they should stop falling for it!) but it isn’t good PR in the long run. Good PR, huh. Things that’ll appeal to that market…

Oh!

_Oh!_

Ancap jumps out of the soft cushions of his chair, doesn’t even bother with slippers, and closes the door of his room behind him. “Libertarian!” he calls, leaning dangerously far over the banister that drops down into (one of) their living rooms.

Libertarian blinks up at him from the couch. “Oh. I know that look.”

Ancap feels giddy, jumpy, high on his own brilliance. He stumbles down the stairs. “I have a _marvelous_ idea! Libertarian, we should get married!”

Libertarian stares at him, places down his laptop, and says: “Ancap, we’re already married.”

Ancap makes a vague motion with his arms. “ _Again_ , Libertarian!” He makes his way over, clasps Libertarian’s hands into his. “Get married again!”

The other ideology pulls him down onto the couch, pats him on the back in a placating kind of way. “I see, I see. What are you under the influence of, now? Want any water?”

Ancap sniffs. “I forgot what I’m on. But—no. Libertarian, I’m being serious here. Pride month is coming up. Imagine the _PR!_ ”

“ _Oh_ ,” Libertarian says, understanding spreading over his face,“that makes much more sense.”

Ancap nods excitedly, presses into Libertarian’s smaller frame. “Think of the stocks!”

The other grins at him. “And the headlines.”

“All the liberals throwing money at our feet!”

That gets a snicker. “So-called liberals. We know who the _real_ liberals are.”

Ancap laughs into Libertarian's shoulder and feels unbearably fond. “This is why you’re my favorite.”

Libertarian is silent for a moment, purses his lips, then smiles. “For the record, you’re my favorite too. No matter how senseless you are about mega corporations.”

“Nonsense my friend,” Ancap smiles. “Is that a yes to the wedding?”

Libertarian laughs. “When have I ever said no to you?”

“You want a list?”

“...It’s a yes.”

Ancap claps his hands. “Wonderful! How would you like it. I was thinking...something flamboyant! Outside! Eye catching!”

“I’m fine with whatever you decide,” Libertarian says, “...Err. Actually. Wear maroon. I want yellow, this time.”

“Sure sure. Hmm… we should decorate the cake liberty style. Vanilla?”

“I prefer chocolate,” Libertarian says, “but we should go with whatever the guests will want most. How about a rainbow cake?”

Ancap snaps his fingers. “You’re right! Rainbow themed. Flags everywhere! Celebrities invited! I’d like to hear lefties complain about how ‘capitalism perpetuates intolerance’ after _this._ Hmm...”

Libertarian tilts his head. “Hmm what?”

“Nothing important,” Ancap says, and almost frowns. Something sharp and wanting tugs through his fingers. Something undeniably _curious_ and _wondering_. “Just...thinking. If we didn’t have PR to worry about, what kind of wedding _would_ you like? Hypothetically, of course.”

Libertarian is silent for a moment. He looks at Ancap strangely. Ancap smiles right back. “Something...small, I guess.” That makes sense, Libertarian never quite took Ancap eternal lust for _more and more and more_. Never quite shined as flamboyantly and ostentatiously as Ancap always has. “Private, maybe with a couple friends. No fancy vows. Ah, not exactly cheap, either. Just comfortable.”

Ancap prefers everything fancy, extravagant, over the top. But what Libertarian described...does not sound entirely bad. He would do it for Libertarian, he thinks.

“Hmm.” Ancap plays with the edge of Libertarian’s hat, with the curls of his hair. Libertarian has soft hair. Ancap should lend him the best shampoo he has. Imagine that—Libertarian smelling like him! “I wouldn’t mind that.”

Libertarian laughs softly. “Back to planning for the actual wedding, though.”

(A month later and they’re married. Ancap wears maroon, and Libertarian dresses down in butter-cup gold. There are isles of celebrities and rows of cameramen, and Libertarian says _I do_ , and Ancap says _I do_ , and it’s all bullshit, of course, but—

when Ancap presses his lips against Libertarian’s, and studies the faint flush crawling up the other ideology’s cheeks, he _wants_. Wants and wants and _wants_.)

**III.**

Ancap has never been one to deny himself; has never even tried. Which is too say, when Ancap figures out he _wants_ Libertarian, he devotes himself to acquiring him.

And Libertarian told him _it has to be mutual_ , and Ancap—hesitated, then. He has never liked belonging to people. He has never liked being anything but free. People belong to him; he does not belong to people. That’s how it always is, that’s how he’s always wanted it to be.

But Libertarian moved into Ancapistan for him, and he _wants_ Libertarian, and who would he have been if he did not seize that opportunity? That was the best deal libertarian would give him. And—

It was a good one. _Is_ a good one. Will continue to be a good one.

Libertarian squeezes his hand. The other ideology looks gorgeous beneath the cozy, toasted light of this indoor complex. His hair is light and caramel, his eyes are the bronze of freshly minted pennies, his whole attire is clean and classy. And he’s about to become _his_.

“Now...” Minarchist says, in place of a proper priest (not that Ancap or Libertarian would’ve bothered with one, anyway), because the _instant_ he found out about the whole affair he decreed himself for the position—no matter how traditionally unsuited he is for it. “Do you agree to treat each other as most treasured business partners and conduct yourselves together in closest spirit of the NAP?”

Libertarian huffs a laugh. “Of course.”

“With no searching for loopholes,” Ancap agrees, and he really, actually, _genuinely_ means it. (And isn’t that something to be positively _dizzy_ over? For all the centuries of his existence, there has never been anyone he valued so clearly as Libertarian.)

Minarchist honestly _coos_ at them. His eyes are sparkling blue-yellow, starry as the night sky that his palate resembles. “You may become each other’s private property.”

Ancap cups his hands around Libertarian’s face and kisses greedily. The other ideology tastes like hazelnut and cocoa, and his lips are soft, and his arms are snaking around Ancap’s back, and— _Rand_ , Ancap has wanted this.

Libertarian breaks the kiss. “My private property.”

“Yours,” Ancap agrees, “and you mine.”

_Mine!_

“Congratulations on your solidarity,” Minarchist grins, flopping down onto one of the couches.

It’s a nice space, a complex of rooms in Ancapistan’s highest sky scraper. Libertarian and Ancap’s property. This particular room is a lounge. The outside facing wall is less of a wall and more of a window, and from here Ancap can see the entire cityscape of Ancapistan spreading out below them. It glows like a sea of fireflies in the night.

A small gathering, with only four people; just how Libertarian wanted it.

“Are they done... _kissing_ now?” Hoppean asks, still facing the wall.

Minarchist laughs lightly. “Yep! Hey hey, Ancap, we can have cake now, right? Hoppean, what flavor was it again?”

Hoppean turns around. He looks incredibly uncomfortable. “Chocolate and vanilla. Half and half.”

“Oh,” Ancap exclaims, “you shouldn’t have! How much do we pay you for that?”

Hoppean is doing everything In his power not to meet either of their eyes. He didn’t have to come, though. He was given the invitation, but he did not have to attend. This is Ancapistan; no one would force him.

Hoppean’s wings shuffle. “Free. Consider it a gift. For your...union.” He sound physically pained.

“Hey,” Libertarian says, still pressed close against Ancap’s side. “Thanks. We really appreciate it. We’re all glad you came.”

Hoppean looks away. “Just go eat your cake.”

Minarchist jumps off the couch instantly and pulls them all over to the cake table. Hoppean lifts the covering. Libertarian breathes in sharply. Ancap eyes the cake with satisfaction.

It’s a gorgeous kind of thing. Tall, elegant, _classy_. The Gadsden snake winds around each layer—every scale fitted with a thin gold leaf. How utterly _stunning_.

“That’s _beautiful_ ,” Ancap breathes. “Imagine how much you could _sell_ this for. Don’t tread on me indeed...”

Libertarian curls his hand around Ancap’s. “Don’t tread on us,” he says. “It’s us, now.”

 _Us_ , Ancap thinks. What a brilliant thing. What a good idea. What a wonderful business venture this ended up being.

“Right,” Ancap agrees, touching his fingers over the warm metal band around Libertarian’s ring finger. “Don’t tread on us.” 

**Author's Note:**

> “this was pretty bland” you say. “that was kinda ooc” you say. “the pacing was incredibly awkward” you say. "the ending was garbage" you say. “ _oops_ ” I say.  
> yeah lol idk how this one turned out. I tried, but writing ancap is damn hard. He’s the one I struggle most with. Like wtf idk how u guys do it.
> 
> Anyway!!! thank you for taking the time to read. I hope you enjoyed. Per usual, constructive criticism is welcome, and I really appreciate comments--so please don't hesitate <3


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